


stay the night

by pipistrelle



Series: there is a season [4]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Briar and Rosethorn leave for Yanjing. Rosethorn wants to take care of her family; Lark knows better than to trust in promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay the night

“All right, that’s everything,” Rosethorn announced, dusting her hands together as she came out of her workroom.

Lark, working busily with a tangle of rope spread out over the table, looked up in surprise. “But your clothes still aren’t packed,” she pointed out. “The medicine stores for Hardbottle are still in too many baskets, the horses won’t be able to carry them, and this --” she held up the rope, which was halfway knotted into a carry-net for Briar’s _shakkan_ , heavy with protective signs to keep a small tree from being flattened or bruised on the long trip to Yanjing.

Rosethorn brushed away the practical problems involved in travel with an impatient wave of her hand. “I’m not talking about all of that.”

Lark went back to her work, keeping one eye on Rosethorn. “Then what are you talking about?”

“There’s a year’s worth of your asthma medicine stocked up,” said Rosethorn.  “Possibly a year and a half, if you keep that workshop of yours dusted and refrain from showing off your tumbler’s tricks to bored novices.” Lark snorted, and Rosethorn switched from scolding back to brisk practicality. “After more than a year and a half the tincture of lobelia starts to lose potency, so if we’re gone that long you’ll need to have Crane replenish your supply. He has all my formulas, and even he can’t butcher them too badly. There’s the allergy oil for Sandry, and all the usual salves and cold remedies. There’s three forests’ worth of willowbark in the red jar, aloe in the green --”

Lark had set her net down and was watching Rosethorn with her chin in her hands, half amazed and half laughing. “Rosie,” she said. “Are you telling me how you mark your medicines?”

Rosethorn faltered, then carefully set her features into a scowl. “I know you know,” she said. “I just want to be sure you won’t have to rely on Willowwater, or Sealwort, or any of those -- those _slushbrains_ while I’m gone.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Lark asked. “Your last night in Emelan, and you’re going to spend it maligning the character of our Water Temple dedicates?”

Rosethorn was too proud to look down, but as she held Lark’s gaze a faint flush bloomed across her cheeks, embarrassment or defiance. There it is, Lark thought. Something held back, something Rosie was gritting her teeth on. They’d talked for so long about this trip to Yanjing, she couldn’t possibly be having second thoughts. It had never been Rosethorn’s way to want to back out of anything, especially not where Briar was concerned, and he’d been itching to escape into the wider world for more than half a year now.

 Lark knew better than to try to press forward against Rosethorn’s defenses -- stronger men and women than her had been cut to pieces that way. Instead she tried for a lighter, teasing tone. “Come now, you’re not being fair. They may be a bit scatterbrained, but we do have some of the best healers in the Pebbled Sea. I happen to know Willowwater is on the Medicinal Council at Lightsbridge, so surely --”

 “They shouldn’t be the ones taking care of you,” Rosethorn said flatly.

 Unspoken but obvious was the other half of that thought: _it should be me_.

 “Oh, Rosie.” Lark stood and held out a hand. Rosethorn hesitated for so long that Lark though she would refuse, but at last she let her callused, dirt-roughened fingers rest in Lark's, let herself be drawn into Lark's arms, tilted her head back to return Lark's brief and reassuring kiss.

At least, Lark had meant it to be reassuring. As soon as she pulled away, though, Rosethorn wrapped her arms around Lark’s waist and clung to her fiercely, jealously -- as though afraid Lark would be stolen away at any moment, as though it was Lark and not herself who was leaving tomorrow morning on a journey halfway round the world. As though it wasn’t always Rosethorn who left, and Lark who stayed behind.

 “I can take care of me,” Lark said. “The best thing -- listen to me, Rosie.” Lark pulled far enough back to meet the dark eyes she loved so well. “The only thing you can do for me is look after yourself. Bring yourself and Briar back in one piece. Nothing else matters.”

 She hoped she sounded brave, or at least resigned; in truth, she was neither. Fear tightened its coils around her heart -- fear that the litany of loss she’d lived wasn’t over, that the best-rooted, most solid love she’d ever known would perish in some faraway place, leaving only its scars behind. For a moment she looked at the adoration in Rosethorn’s eyes and wanted something stronger, a token, a solemn oath. The demand formed itself on her lips: _Promise me you’ll come home_!

 She let it fade unspoken. She had seen promises like that broken, broken them herself, too often. They were worse than cold comfort; and they were greedy, grasping, asking too much of the world and of her love.

 She had faith in Rosethorn.

 “I know you’re unhappy that I’m leaving,” Rosethorn began, sounding unhappy enough for both of them, but Lark didn’t let her go on.

 “Of course I am,” she said simply. “But it would be much worse if I knew my selfish desires had deprived Briar of his education -- or you of the chance to give it to him.” She tucked a stray strand of chestnut hair behind Rosethorn’s ear, delighting in the faint scowl Rosethorn gave her for fussing. “And think of all the good you’ll do for the farmers and healers between here and Gyongxe. What sort of creature would I be to stand in the way of that?”

 Rosethorn was still scowling, but there was no edge behind it. “You are entirely too good,” she informed Lark. “Some days I’m convinced it must all be an act. You must be hiding a selfish, good-for-nothing scoundrel of a woman in there somewhere.”

 “Of course I am,” Lark murmured. She pressed a kiss to Rosethorn’s neck, and felt the other woman tense up in surprise, and then relax. “You have one more night to spend with her, if you want to.”

 “Don’t be foolish, of course I want to.” Rosethorn’s voice was rough. “Where are the children?”

 “On the roof.” The children were saying their own goodbyes, and would be occupied for hours. It was a warm enough night that they might even fall asleep on the thatch and not come down into the house until dawn.

Little enough time, Lark thought, following Rosethorn into her room. But it was what they had, to sustain them both over the long separation that would come with the morning, and so it would have to be enough.


End file.
